This is How a Heart Breaks
by Dragonfly8716
Summary: Summary: During his senior year, Spencer copes with his mother’s death. M for sex, slash, alcohol, drugs, language. Nothing graphic. Same universe as Power Outage.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: During his senior year, Spencer copes with his mother's death. M for sex, slash, alcohol, drugs, language. Nothing graphic. Same universe as _Power Outage_.

Disclaimer and credits: _iCarly_ is owned by Schneider's Bakery, Nickelodeon and Viacom. _The Real World _is owned by MTV. _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House at Pooh Corner_ were written by A. A. Milne. _The Dumb Bunnies_ was written by Sue Denim. Titles are borrowed from a book by _Chinua Achebe_ and songs by Rob Thomas, Tina Turner and John Lennon.

A/N: I really don't love the last chapter, but I've had the rest of this done for over a month, and it's time to either delete or finish it and let it go.

* * *

**Chapter 1—Wish You Were Here**

It wasn't how Spencer had pictured it. In his mother's version, he would have taken a spade and worked her ashes into the dark rich soil around the bee's balm and delphiniums in her garden. Instead they were gathered at Rolling Hills Cemetery, where her coffin waited to be lowered into the already-dug grave. The grass was green and well maintained, but it had been raining for so many days that the mud underneath tugged persistently at everyone's shoes. The funeral home had set up an open-sided tent next to the coffin, where family and friends huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, seeking shelter from the light drizzle. In the crowded space, Col. Shay managed to stand slightly apart, rigidly at attention in his full dress uniform. Spencer had tried to talk to him about scattering his mother's ashes, but he had snapped back, "Funerals are for the living. We'll do what people expect," and the subject had been closed.

Col. Morgan said in a strong voice, "To remind us that we are not alone in our time of grief, let us recite the Twenty-Third Psalm." The hum of voices, murmuring the almost remembered words of the psalm, rose up around Spencer. He felt Carly's hand squirm in his and squeezed back. When the Lord's Prayer followed, he joined in. After a final moment of silence, people started drifting away, talking in hushed voices to avoid disturbing the dead.

As space opened around them, Spencer knelt down to hug Carly. Her face looked paler than usual against the stark black of the dress Mrs. Morgan had picked up for her, and she was unusually subdued. So many strangers had commented over the last few days on what a well-behaved child she was. "Come on, Carly Shay, let's blow this popsicle stand," Spencer whispered in her ear. He got up and brushed off the smear of wet grass and mud on the knee of his father's suit pants. They walked to the limo where their father was waiting, and Carly climbed into the middle of the backseat. Spencer sat down next to her and stared at his lap. He twisted his fingers together and thought, _Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and out come the people._

After the limo started back towards the funeral home where their car waited, Carly asked, "Why was Mommy in that box?"

"She's dead," said her father with finality.

"Won't she be lonely?" asked Carly in a worried but curious voice.

"It's just her body," explained Spencer. "It's not really her. She's gone." It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. He didn't bother to wipe away the tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Mommy's in heaven now." Col. Shay held Spencer's eye as if daring him to contradict the statement.

"When will she come home?" asked Carly hopefully.

"Never," said her father curtly.

She looked at Spencer for confirmation. He shook his head sadly. "Sorry, kiddo." Three days after her mother's death, Carly finally started to cry. She buried her face against Spencer's side. Feeling her body start to shake, he wrapped an arm tightly around her. She sobbed for several minutes, and then began to draw long shuddering breaths. He heard something in her breathing change and started to pat his pockets, searching for her inhaler. His father shook his head irritably and handed Spencer a tissue. "OK, Carly," said Spencer. "Blow your nose." After she did, she breathed more easily.

***

Grandma Shay covered the last casserole with plastic wrap and wedged it into the freezer. She still wore her plain black dress and heels, even though everyone else had changed into casual clothes.

"You really don't need to do this, Mom," said Col. Shay in a resigned voice.

"I know you boys have been cooking for yourselves for a while now, but this makes me feel useful," she said, her eyes darting around the kitchen for something else to do.

The only time Spencer had seen her sit still was at the church. When Granddad took Dad to make the funeral arrangements, she swept through the master bedroom gathering up all the pill bottles and half empty water glasses and unwashed sheets. She spent the next day dusting, mopping, vacuuming, cooking, organizing. She supervised the removal of the rented hospital bed and bullied her son until he helped Spencer carry the bedsprings and mattress back up from the basement. Earlier today, when the late afternoon sun finally broke free of the clouds, she strode from room to room, raising the blinds and opening windows "to let some air in." The air was slightly damp, but the sickroom smell that had permeated everything for the last three months was fading from the house. Though Spencer was relieved that that she'd managed to scrub away the smell of death, he couldn't help feeling that she'd erased a little bit of his mother at the same time.

"Spencer," called Granddad from the hallway. "Give an old man some help with the suitcases."

Out in the driveway, he carefully arranged and rearranged the items in the trunk as if they were a complicated three-dimensional puzzle that only fit together one way. Spencer had just turned to go inside when his grandfather cleared his throat. "Listen, Spencer. Your father looks strong, but I know him. He's taking this hard. If you ever need anything—anything at all—call me." He hugged his grandson tightly. Spencer couldn't shake the nagging sense of déjà vu until he remembered standing in the endless receiving line at the church, where Col. Morgan had grasped his hand and said almost exactly the same words.

"I love you, Spence," said Granddad. "Now, I'd better go say goodbye to Carly."

Spencer headed in to the kitchen to say goodbye to his grandmother, but stopped short of the doorway and quickly stepped out her line of sight. Her arms were around his father, whose shoulders were shaking as he pressed his face against her ugly dress. She wordlessly stroked his gray-flecked hair and hummed something that might have been a lullaby.

Ten minutes later Mr. Shay found his son watching the Mariner's game from his brown leather recliner. He pressed his lips together in a tight line, but all he said was "Goodbye, son. Take care." By the time the car pulled out of the driveway, Col. Shay had opened his third beer.

***

Even though it was still early, Spencer ran Carly's bath. "You want privacy, kiddo?"

"I want you to stay," she said, climbing into the tub.

He put down lid and sat on toilet. Picking up a rubber duck, he squeaked, "I'm going to the moon, Mommy Duck."

Carly grinned and waved a smaller duck back at him. "Not until you eat your carrots, Baby Duck."

"I'm running away," squeaked Spencer, hiding the duck behind his back.

"I caught you in my net," giggled Carly, splaying her fingers and clapping her hands together.

When her skin got pruny, he let her wash her own hair and poured a few cups of water over her head to rinse out the shampoo. She put her pajamas on and stood patiently in front of him while he eased a comb through the tangles. The familiar routine soothed both of them. For a few minutes he forgot that Mom wasn't waiting just down the hall for Carly's goodnight kiss.

Spencer tucked Carly into bed and began to read _The Dumb Bunnies_. She whined, "You're not doing it right."

He started again and heard himself reading in a dull, flat voice. "Sorry, kiddo, I guess my heart just isn't in it tonight." He turned the book over a couple of times and set it aside. He went to her bookcase and searched until he found a worn, cloth-bound book. He held it up and said, "Mom read this to me when I was little, and her mom read it to her when she was little. Now it's my turn to read it to you."

Sitting on the edge of her bed, he let the book fall open. He'd intended to pick a chapter at random, but he when he started to read he recognized his mother's favorite. "It rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never in his life, and _he _was goodness knows _how _old—three, was it, or four?—never had he seen so much rain…." As he read, he fell into the remembered rhythm of his mother's voice. By the end of the chapter, Carly was asleep.

Spencer was exhausted. He didn't bother to brush his teeth or change clothes, just pulled off his jeans and climbed into bed. After twenty minutes of staring into the dark, he switched the lamp on and started fiddling with a Rubik's cube to stop his circling thoughts.

Hours later, Carly padded into his room. She stopped just inside the door. Her eyes were wide and her lip trembled slightly.

"What's up, kiddo?" he asked.

When she spoke, her words came out in a jumbled rush. "Mommy was in a room and it was dark and I couldn't get out and I was scared and I went to Mommy and Daddy's bedroom and they weren't there."

Spencer had to concentrate to understand what she was saying. "It's OK, Carly Shay. Dad probably fell asleep in the recliner. You were just having a bad dream." She looked so small and lost that he asked, "You want to sleep in here?" She nodded soberly and climbed into the bed. He switched off the light and rolled over on his side. He felt her scoot towards the middle of the bed and plant her cold feet against the small of his back. He was planning to move her as soon as she fell asleep, but now that he wasn't alone his mind clicked off and his body relaxed. He was barely aware of her snuggling closer to him as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer and credits: _iCarly_ is owned by Schneider's Bakery, Nickelodeon and Viacom. _The Real World _is owned by MTV. _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House at Pooh Corner_ were written by A. A. Milne. _The Dumb Bunnies_ was written by Sue Denim. Titles are borrowed from a book by _Chinua Achebe_ and songs by Rob Thomas, Tina Turner and John Lennon.

* * *

**Chapter 2—What's Love Got to Do With It?**

Spencer woke up just before dawn. His first thought, the same one he woke up to every morning, was that his mom was gone. He knew he wouldn't get back to sleep. Getting out of bed, he tucked the covers around Carly, who had kicked them off in the middle of the night. After he showered and dressed, he headed to the kitchen where Dad sat waiting for the coffee to brew. He held a newspaper in front of him like a shield. Spencer poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Crunchies and hoped they wouldn't talk.

Dad snapped the newspaper shut. "First day of senior year. Are you excited?"

Spencer shrugged.

"I envy you. Every fall you get the opportunity to make a fresh start. Maybe you'll get decent grades this year."

Spencer concentrated on stirring his cereal, which slowly turned the milk a chocolaty brown.

"I do want to speak to you about something," his father said in a less friendly tone. "Carly has slept in your bed every night this week."

Spencer chose his words carefully because he didn't want to have another fight. "I know you think children should sleep by themselves, but she's been having a lot of bad dreams."

"Rules are rules. It's simply not appropriate for a brother and sister to sleep in the same bed," said his father, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Jesus Christ." _You cannot be saying what I think you're saying_. "She's five years old. Her mother just died. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I will not be talked to in that tone," he said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

Spencer picked up cereal bowl and slammed it into the sink. Milk splashed the countertop. "I'm out of here." He grabbed his backpack and left.

Far too early, he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. He felt stupid sitting alone in his car, so he walked over to a group of kids sheltered under an overhang at the back of school. They had a reputation, and he normally wouldn't have approached them, but the school was locked and he wanted to get out of the rain. A tall, stocky kid with a bad case of acne eyed him suspiciously. "You here to buy?"

"Nah, it's raining cats and dogs and I didn't want to step in a poodle," said Spencer, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a dopey grin.

"Are you laughing at me?" The kid—Albert? Omar?—leaned forward until his nose nearly touched Spencer's. He jabbed his finger into Spencer's chest. "Because I don't like to be laughed at. "

Spencer figured that he had about five seconds to come up with the right answer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Socko grinning into his face. "Shit, you already look fucked up." Socko put an arm around his shoulder and led him around the corner of the building. "You need something, you ask me. And stay away from Oscar. I doubt you can handle anything stronger than weed."

***

Spencer was starting to hate _The Nutcracker Suite._ When the nurse finally came on the phone, he leaned into his locker to block out some of the noise in the hall. "Yes, I need Dr. Mayer to call in a refill for Carly Shay…. S-H-A-Y…. January 14, 1993…. Albuterol…. Look, can we hurry? I'm almost late for class…. No…. Her older brother…. What difference does it make?… Fine, I'll make sure he calls." As the bell rang for class he slammed his locker and cursed his inability to lie.

***

After school, he drove to Briar Ridge Elementary. Carly wouldn't be dismissed for another forty-five minutes, so he parked at the end of the circle drive, rolled down the windows and leaned back in his seat. The warm sun flooding into the car lulled him to sleep. He woke to the sound of someone rapping on the windshield.

A long line of minivans stretched out behind his car. Carly was standing next to a shy-looking young woman who would have been pretty if she'd had a little bit more chin. "Are you Carly's …?"

"Her older brother," he replied, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "My dad gets off work too late to pick her up."

"I thought you were too young to be her dad," she said, opening the door to the back seat so that Carly could climb in. "I'm Ms. Sullivan, Carly's teacher." She said the words self-consciously, as though they were new to her, and held out her hand with more confidence than she probably felt.

"Well, hello, Carly's teacher," said Spencer, shaking her hand and holding on just a little longer than necessary.

Ms. Sullivan was suddenly all business. "I wanted to let you know that we have each child bring snacks one day during the first month of kindergarten. Some of the kids are too wound up to eat lunch the first few weeks, and they get hungry in the afternoon. Tomorrow is Carly's turn. No nuts. We have two children with allergies." She smiled almost apologetically.

Spencer stared into her hazel eyes and thought that if he were a couple years older, he'd ask her out. "No problem." Cars and vans were starting to pull around them. "I guess I'd better go."

***

Spencer's friendship with Socko was one of those happy coincidences that sometimes happen to military brats. Spencer's dad was posted to Virginia Beach a couple of months after Spencer's eighth birthday. Two weeks later the Krafts moved in next door. When Mrs. Kraft went back to work, Spencer's mom volunteered to watch all three boys. They spent two glorious summers at the beach—body surfing, dragging each other under the waves, building elaborate sand forts and digging for clams, while his mom lounged under a huge umbrella with a bestseller.

When they met again a few moves later, the two new kids in the Junior Class at Ridgeway High, they picked up where they'd left off. By now, Socko was a charmer and a loner, friendly to everyone but close to no one. Spencer—too awkward to be cool, too clumsy to be a jock, not smart enough to be a nerd—was just grateful not to be alone.

Spencer and Socko walked in through the garage door. Socko's mom sat at the kitchen table in her bright scrubs. Her hospital ID was still clipped to the collar of her jacket, but she had already removed one shoe to massage her foot.

Spencer asked politely, "How are you doing, Mrs. Kraft?"

"Fine, sweetie," she said, as she pulled off the other shoe. "How have you been holding up? You still miss her a lot, don't you?"

Spencer mumbled in agreement.

"Well," she sighed. "Long shift. I never did get lunch. Would you boys like some sandwiches?"

Five minutes later they were in the basement with loaded plates. Spencer collapsed onto the worn gray couch, while Socko popped _Boogie Bear Takes Manhattan_ into the VCR. Spencer's eyes glazed as he let the sound from the movie wash over him.

During the final scene, where a giant Boogie Bear climbed up the Empire State Building and swatted helicopters out of the air, Socko snorted cola out of his nose. "This is so fucking lame, it's genius," he choked. Looking over at Spencer's blank face, he asked, "What's up? You're acting like your best friend just—Aw, shit. I didn't mean that."

Spencer shrugged. "It's OK. At least you haven't told me you're _sorry. _I'm sick of people being sorry." Socko grinned, a fake don't-know-what-to-say grin, and Spencer turned back to the movie. A few minutes later Socko was snickering again. _Just like normal, _Spencer thought_. I need more normal._

As the final credits rolled, Socko glanced at the clock on the VCR. "I'd better get upstairs before Mom starts yelling about it being a school night. You can crash here if you want."

Spencer flipped through the channels. He finally settled on a Real World marathon. In the confessional, a girl was earnestly discussing losing her virginity. He knew there was a hot tub scene coming up.

He was thinking about going home when Socko's older brother came down the stairs. "Oh, hey, Tyler. You on leave?"

"I got kicked out." Tyler stared at the ground. "One of the guys in my unit saw me in a bar. With another guy."

"That sucks," said Spencer quietly.

Tyler looked Spencer in the eye. "I thought maybe with your dad in the Navy—"

"My dad and I disagree on a lot of things," Spencer said flatly.

Tyler sat down at the far end of the couch. He and Spencer watched television in companionable silence. One of the roommates got puking drunk—again—and the others discussed whether to kick her out of the house. Spencer stifled a yawn. He had just decided to go home when he felt Tyler scoot closer to him. Spencer's head jerked up in surprise, and he really looked at Tyler for the first time. He wasn't the scrawny boy from the beach anymore. His face, which had delicate features and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, was dangerously close. Tyler lightly brushed Spencer's lips with his own and drew back with something like panic in his eyes. Spencer's first instinct was to comfort him.

"Hey, come on, it's all right," he said soothingly, wrapping Tyler in a hug. He could feel Tyler's body shaking and rubbed his back. Tyler said something so softly he couldn't hear it. "What?"

"Last time I did this it ruined everything."

Knowing how Tyler would take it, knowing he should probably say anything else, Spencer said, "Then you've got nothing left to lose."

Tyler lifted his head and leaned in for another kiss. Eventually Spencer kissed him back.

***

The next morning when his alarm went off, his eyes felt gritty and his body was screaming for more sleep. In the shower, he swayed gently on his feet and wondered if it was possible to sleep standing up. He didn't have the energy to get out until the water ran cold.

As he dressed, he had the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something. Probably some homework assignment. It wasn't until he was dropping off Carly at school that his brain finally offered up the word "snacks." To his surprise, Carly was hysterical. "I'll flunk," she insisted. "Dad always tells you if you don't do your homework, you'll flunk." She wasn't quite crying, but her voice was shrill and high.

As he bent down next to Carly in the doorway to the gym, he saw the girls who ran the before-school care program whispering with their heads close together. They kept glancing his direction while they talked. "OK, kiddo," he sighed. "It's my fault I forgot."

By the time he picked up cheese and crackers, dropped off Carly and walked into history class, he was 35 minutes late. Mrs. Briggs glared at him. "How lovely of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Shay. Detention. One hour for every ten minutes that you're late. Starting tonight." She smiled coldly and continued with her lecture.

***

Socko convinced him that he couldn't stay home on Friday night. When they pulled into the parking lot, music was blaring from a car stereo. Kids were clustered in tight groups on the blacktop. Socko disappeared almost immediately, leaving Spencer standing awkwardly next to a girl from his Spanish class. Alyssa? Allie? She had long black hair and heavily made up eyes. When she threw back her head to laugh at someone else's joke, he saw a glint of silver embedded in her tongue. She poured some rum into a red plastic cup and passed the bottle to him. After hesitating for a moment, he let it burn down his throat and waited for a buzz that didn't want to come.

"So," she said. I didn't see you around this summer."

He mumbled, "I was kind of busy," and hoped that she didn't notice the way he had flinched.

When he tuned back in, she was still talking. "…would have remembered you." Draining her cup, she took him by the hand. "Let's go somewhere," she said in a low voice.

She led him to a battered red Honda with a back window covered in stickers. He swayed a little as she opened the door and bumped his head climbing into the backseat. The space was so cramped that he didn't bother to shut the door, just let his feet dangle into empty space. He only expected to make out. Even after she wriggled out of her shirt and started undressing him, his brain was in such a fog that she had to guide his hand to the warm space between her legs before he understood how far she was willing to go. He followed her lead, and his body reacted in all the right ways, but he couldn't feel a thing. Afterwards the silence was awful. As they gathered up their clothes he knew that she expected him to say something, and when the only thing that came out of his mouth was "See you Monday," he knew that he deserved the flash of hatred in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer and credits: _iCarly_ is owned by Schneider's Bakery, Nickelodeon and Viacom. _The Real World _is owned by MTV. _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House at Pooh Corner_ were written by A. A. Milne. _The Dumb Bunnies_ was written by Sue Denim. Titles are borrowed from a book by _Chinua Achebe_ and songs by Rob Thomas, Tina Turner and John Lennon.

* * *

**Chapter 3—Whatever Gets You Through the Night**

Spencer and his father sat across the desk from Principle Hernandez and Mr. Franklin, the guidance counselor. Principal Hernandez was talking mostly to Spencer's father, but Mr. Franklin was watching Spencer's reaction with what was probably meant to be a reassuring expression on his face.

"We normally wouldn't intervene this early in the school year, but Spencer's been in detention seven times in the last month, and several of his teachers have confirmed that he's sleeping in class. While he's never been a straight A student, he's never been in danger of failing before," said Principal Hernandez.

Col. Shay interrupted. "When he was screwing up in kindergarten, we put him on Ritalin, and that made everyone's life easier. Can we do something like that again?"

Mr. Franklin looked at Col. Shay with definite dislike. "You'd need to arrange that through your health care provider, but I don't think it's necessary. What we can provide is grief counseling, academic counseling and a referral to a tutor. Some of Spencer's teachers may be willing to work with him after school, but that's entirely up to their discretion."

***

Spencer sat across the desk from Mr. Franklin. He'd obviously made an attempt to make the room less institutional—framed prints on the wall, a loveseat crammed into the corner, a cheap brightly patterned rug on the floor. Mr. Franklin sat patiently with his fingertips touching. _Here is the church, _thought Spencer.

After an eternity—two minutes? five?—Mr. Franklin smiled wryly. "This works better if you talk."

Spencer let the silence drag out a little longer. "I don't know what to say."

"How do you feel?"

That was what he expected. That was why he didn't want to be here in the first place. "I don't know."

Mr. Franklin rephrased the question. "What have you been feeling over the last couple of months?"

And because Mr. Franklin seemed like a genuinely nice guy, because Spencer was stuck here whether he talked or not, because it might just go faster if he talked, he seriously considered the question. "Sometimes it's like I'm inside a bubble. No one can touch me. Sometimes I feel everything too much, like I'm not wearing any skin."

***

When he went through her backpack after school, he found a note photocopied on neon-orange paper. Carly's name was written across the top.

_Dear Parent, _

_Your child is next week's Star of the Week. Please send a poster board with pictures of your child. Also fill out the attached sheet listing your child's favorite color, food, television show, etc. Your child may bring stickers or other small trinkets to pass out to the class on Friday. No candy please._

Going through the pictures was easier than he expected because Mom was the family photographer. Halfway through the box he'd started to relax, and then he flipped over a picture that knocked the breath out of his lungs. His mother was tanned and smiling, as gorgeous as she'd ever been, with her arms wrapped around Spencer and Carly. Dad must have taken it on their last family vacation, the one right before they found out she was sick. _She already knew, _he thought with a chill_. That's why she had him take the picture._ He shoved the photo to the bottom of the stack.

***

While he was running the water for her bath, Spencer noticed the angry red welt. "Carly, what happened to your arm?"

She looked down at it and said, "I wanted a waffle so I climbed on a chair. I bumped the toaster, and it burned my arm. It was really hot."

"Dad let you use the toaster oven by yourself?" He was furious, but he tried not to let it show. "I'm going to talk to Dad for a few minutes. I'll be back to wash your hair."

Spencer walked to the family room. Standing in front of the recliner, he picked up the remote and switched off the television. "We need to talk." He saw a brief flash of anger in his father's eyes.

He took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. "Carly used the toaster oven by herself earlier today. When I'm not here you need to watch her. She's too young to cook by herself."

His father watched him impassively.

"I've been asking you to call in a refill on her inhaler for weeks. The old one is empty and I don't know what I'll do if she has another attack."

His father took a swig of beer, but his eyes never left Spencer's face.

Spencer thought about letting the last thing go, but it needed to be said. "I think you're drinking too much."

His father stared at him as a flush slowly rose on his face. As the silence drew out, Spencer wished his father would make another hurtful little jab already. What he finally said was, "I can't do this without your mother."

"Just get the inhaler refilled," said Spencer. He handed the remote to his father and promised himself he wouldn't ask again. The television was back on before he left the room.

***

Carly was tucked under her pink and yellow comforter. Spencer wasn't sure why he still bothered to put her to bed in her own room. He knew that by morning she'd be in his bed, even if he spent the night at Socko's. Another futile attempt to please his dad, he guessed. He opened the book to the last chapter, knowing that tomorrow they'd start at the beginning again. "Christopher Robin was going away. Nobody knew why he was going; nobody knew where he was going; indeed, nobody even knew—"

"Spencer?" interrupted Carly.

"Does Christopher Robin come back?"

"Yes, he's just going to school."

"Will Mommy come back?"

He sets down the book. "No, Carly. She's not coming back."

"Daddy says she's in heaven. Daddy says she can see me. How come I can't see her?"

Spencer sighed. He wanted to tell her an easy lie about angels, but he couldn't. Her anxious eyes searched his face. "Look—I don't know for certain; nobody really knows—but we learned about DNA in school. It's like instructions for making a person. Half of your DNA comes from Mom. Your hair and your eyes and the way you curl your toes and the way you laugh—those things come from Mom. And me, I'm half Mom, too, the way I'm clumsy and hate fighting and I'm good at art." He frowned, trying to figure out where he was going with this. "I guess in a way she's not gone. As long as we're here, part of Mom is too."

"But I want Mommy," she pouts.

"I know, kiddo. So do I."

***

Spencer and Tyler were tangled up on the couch again. Their tongues were in each other's mouths and Spencer couldn't let himself think at all because if he did he'd have to say, "Look, dude, this has to stop." He didn't really know why he had let it go this far. Except he did. Every time he found the right words, he swallowed them because he didn't want to be the one to put the broken look back on Tyler's face.

Tyler was murmuring in his ear, "I want…." With uncertain hands, Tyler pulled him to his feet, unzipped his jeans and slid them down over his hips. What Spencer felt in the pit of his stomach was mostly fear but a little excitement too, and why the fuck couldn't he have felt that the other night in the back seat? Tyler was kneeling front of him when Socko walked into the room. Tyler fled, leaving Spencer to pull up his pants and blush.

Socko's face was unreadable. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he wore that neutral expression he wore for the rest of the world, for everyone who wasn't his friend. "Look, I've known about Tyler for a long time, but I thought you liked girls."

All Spencer could come up with was, "Um, I do."

"Dude, you were about to shove your dick in my brother's mouth."

Spencer must have looked shocked because Socko's face softened slightly. "I don't really care if you're gay, and it's none of my business what you do with my brother. Just do me one favor?"

Without missing a beat, Spencer said, "Do you want me to pay the late fees on _Boogie Bear Takes Manhattan_?" He cursed his stupidity even before Socko's eyes turned hard again.

"Don't fuck things up so bad you can't come over here anymore."

***

He used the key under the mat to let himself in. He heard a soft roll of laughter from the family room. Making his way through the dark house, he found his father red-faced and snoring softly. A line of empty Coronas snaked its way along the end table. He'd dumped all the empty bottles into the recycling bin—how long ago? Yesterday morning.

There were dark circles under his father's eyes, and his jaw clenched and unclenched in his sleep. Spencer felt a brief tug of compassion when he realized that his father hadn't slept in his own bed since last spring—before the hospital bed and the nurses, before the only thing they were praying for was the end. Spencer picked up the remote and switched off the television. Through the silence, he heard Carly wheezing.

When he got to the bedroom door, her wide eyes were staring at him. He could see her chest moving in the effort to get more air, but he could tell she was getting enough. The part of him that panicked every time she had an attack wanted to go to the emergency room, but he dreaded waking his father and knew there would be questions if he didn't. He had a vague memory of being rocked on his grandmother's porch on a damp spring Minnesota night and decided to give it a try.

He picked up Carly, blankets and all, and carried her to the front stoop, where a small section of roof over the front door protected them from the light mist coming down. "I need you to stand up for just a minute, kiddo," he said as he shook out the blankets and wrapped them around her. He lowered himself to the ground and settled Carly comfortably on his lap. The wheezing wasn't any better, but it wasn't any worse. To calm her, he started to talk.

"When I was four, we were moving to Connecticut and Mom decided to stop and visit her parents on the way. You remember Grandma Molly and Grandpa Lou?" Carly nodded and drew a shuddering breath. Spencer said, "Shhhh," and started to rub her back, hoping it would help. "I got whooping cough, which is kind of like asthma. Grandma took me out on the porch—she had one of those old porch swings—you've probably never seen one. Anyway, she just rocked us back and forth until I could breathe again."

When he leaned back, the threshold pressed against his spine, so he scooted over until his back was against the wall. He felt the cold damp of the cement seeping slowly through his jeans. "You feeling any better?"

She rasped, "Yes."

"Good. Relax. I'm right here." He started to sing a rambling song consisting mostly of the words "Hey, hey, Carly Shay."

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes the moon had moved partway across the sky. He stretched his stiff arms and carried Carly back inside. He lay down in his clothes and fell asleep as his head hit the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer and credits: _iCarly_ is owned by Schneider's Bakery, Nickelodeon and Viacom. _The Real World _is owned by MTV. _Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House at Pooh Corner_ were written by A. A. Milne. _The Dumb Bunnies_ was written by Sue Denim. Titles are borrowed from a book by Chinua Achebe and songs by Rob Thomas, Tina Turner and John Lennon.

* * *

**Chapter 4—Things Fall Apart**

Spencer was shouting at Mr. Franklin. "She could have tried harder. She gave up."

"What else could she have done?" he asked neutrally, not challenging, just gathering information.

Spencer dropped his head into his hands and knotted his fists in his hair. "Something. Drug trials. More surgery. I don't know. Just, she should have tried harder. We still need her. I don't know how to take care of Carly all alone."

Mr. Franklin asked in his irritatingly calm voice, "What about your father? Doesn't he help with Carly?"

"He's applied for a posting overseas. He didn't even tell me. Col. Morgan had to call and fucking tell me that my own father is running away from home." Spencer looked up again and saw that Mr. Franklin was taking notes. Too late, he remembered the warning from the first day. _"I want you to trust me, so I'm going to be honest. What you say here is not entirely confidential. If I think you're in some type of trouble that requires adult intervention, I have an obligation to report it." _On an impulse, and he wanted to believe that he could have stopped himself, he slammed his fist down on the edge of the desk and then swept all the neat piles of papers onto the floor. He heard Mr. Franklin calling him, but he was already sprinting down the hall.

***

Socko hooked Spencer up with a curly-haired brunette and a couple joints and then disappeared across the park to "do some business."

It wasn't long before she was giggling. She rocked up on her tiptoes to kiss him. She bounced up again and again, catching his lips briefly each time. He started to giggle, too, because it was like being kissed by some sort of deranged toy dog. She shoved him against a tree, and he braced himself with his legs spread so that they were close to the same height. She stood between his legs and leaned into his chest and mouth. He risked moving his hand up under her blouse, but she slapped it away. A few minutes later he slid his hands into her back pockets to press her body closer to his, and she didn't seem to mind.

When Spencer finally looked up, Socko was leaning against nearby tree with a smirk on his face. He made a gesture that Spencer interpreted as "I'm leaving, dude," so he asked Cindy if she needed a ride. She was convinced that the friends she came with were still there, so they left her.

They got in Socko's crappy old Plymouth, and Spencer kicked aside enough fast food wrappers to have someplace to put his feet. Socko said, "So, you like girls. Were you just fucking with my brother?"

"He reminded me of Carly."

Socko gave him that I-don't-know-you expression again and said, "You sick fuck."

"Shut up, Socko," snapped Spencer, and he was almost relieved to have a chance to explain himself. "I know he's like 20 but he just seems so young and lost and I wanted him to feel better. And OK, yeah, I like kissing him, but things sort of got out of control 'cause he wants—I don't know, dude, I just can't do that right now. I mean, I don't not like him. But the timing sucks."

"So tell him that. Let him find someone else," Socko said, like they were at the video store renting movies, like Tyler would just put him back on the shelf and pick up someone else.

"OK, I'll talk to him," Spencer promised.

At the next stoplight, Socko turned to him with an irritated look on his face. "Do you have a cell phone, or what? Call him before you wuss out." Just as Spencer pulled the phone out of his pocket, it rang. It had been so long since anyone other than Socko had called him that he nearly dropped it. When he answered, all he heard was a wheeze.

***

Spencer sprinted in, grabbed his keys and picked Carly up off the living room couch. Through her pajama top, he could see her chest heaving. When he asked if she could talk, she shook her head with panic in her eyes.

He was fine until the first red light. His fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel and his leg almost shook from the strain of holding back to only a few miles above the speed limit, but as long as they were moving he could concentrate on something other than the sound of Carly's painful breathing.

As they reached the nearest emergency room, an ambulance pulled up, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Spencer thought about triage and bullet wounds and heart attacks and drove another two blocks to the Children's Mercy urgent care, thinking it would be faster there.

He scooped Carly up into his arms and ran awkwardly towards the entrance. The security guard said, "ID, sir?"

Spencer protested, "But she's really sick."

"Everyone who comes here this time of night is really sick. ID, please."

Spencer shifted Carly up to his shoulder, thrust his wallet at the guard, scribbled his signature and grabbed a badge from the desk. She started to slip out of his arm and he heaved her up against his shoulder again. Somehow he clutched his wallet and clipped on the badge with one hand. He ran again until he stumbled and caught himself against the reception desk.

"My sister can't breathe," he shouted.

"Name?"

"Did you here me? She can't breathe!"

With maddening patience, the receptionist explained, "We need some basic information—allergies, drug interactions—or we can more harm than good. If she's been here before, it's all in the computer."

His arms were starting to ache slightly from Carly's weight in his arms. Spencer thought he saw a bluish tinge around her lips. _It's just the florescent lights._ He recited without prompting "Shay. S-H-A-Y. Carly. January 14, 1993. No known allergies. She has asthma. She'd be fine if she had her inhaler, but—" He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and tried to catch his own breath.

The receptionist must have been used to frantic parents because she handed him a paper and said, "We have an open room. Someone will be coming out to get Carly. You fill out as much of that as you can, and then we'll contact one of her parents to authorize her care."

"Our mom died. A few months ago." He was able to say it without any emotion in his voice.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, fingers efficiently entering the information into the keyboard. "What about her father?"

A friendly voice interrupted. "Is this Carly? We'll get you feeling better, sweetie." Spencer automatically stepped forward to follow the nurse, but she placed a hand on his arm. "You need to finish up here. I'll take her back." For a second, he tightened his grip on Carly, but he felt her tense up, so he forced himself to relax and carefully set her on her feet.

The nurse stooped to take Carly's hand and said, "Follow me, sweetie." Everything about her, from her ash-blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses to her open smile and cat-patterned scrubs reminded him of Socko's mom, and somehow that made him feel better about letting Carly go.

"How do I contact your father?"

"He… I…."

She shot him a look. "Mr. Shay, let's cut the nonsense. I know what you smell like, and it's not cigarettes. I'm sure you don't want your father to find out, but your sister needs him to authorize treatment. So don't insult my intelligence by lying to me."

He looked down at his hands and saw that he was shredding the paper she had given him. "He's at home, asleep, probably drunk. Definitely drunk. I thing it's the only way he can get to sleep."

She gave him a tired look and rubbed her temples. He realized that she was just doing her job. "I hate calling Child Protective Services. Do you have any relatives? A friend of the family? Some responsible adult in your life?"

"My grandparents in Yakima."

She nodded and pulled a card out of her purse. "You have 24 hours. Call me and let me know when they're coming to pick up your little sister. Otherwise, someone will be knocking on your door. Now go back to Room 6."

"But—the insurance stuff?"

"Billing will take care of it."

***

The doorbell rang at 7:45 AM.

While they loaded the suitcases into the trunk, Granddad made small talk about what good time he'd made even though the rain hadn't stopped until he reached the outskirts of Seattle. Splashing through the shallow puddles on the driveway, Spencer clenched the inhaler that the nurse had pressed into his palm a few hours before. Back inside, he had to force his fingers to uncurl one by one, so that he could drop it into Granddad's waiting hand. After the inhaler was tucked safely in the pocket of his gray velour jogging suit, Granddad shouted, "Carly!"

Col. Shay made it to the front hall first. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was matted flat against the side of his head, and there was a red crease across his cheek where his face had rested against the wrinkled collar of his dress shirt while he slept. His father looked at him with disgust. "You're a mess, Charles."

He blinked sleepily at his father. "What are you doing here?"

Granddad said, "Your son called and told me that you can't take care of your own daughter anymore."

Col. Shay moved towards Spencer with clenched fists, and for just a moment Spencer thought his father was going to hit him. Then he slumped in defeat.

Something in his face reminded Spencer of Tyler, and he wondered if his father would allow himself to be hugged. Maybe they could keep each other company, Spencer on the couch and Dad in his recliner, letting the television's white noise wash over them until they learned to sleep again.

"Spencer," said Granddad, "The offer still stands."

"You're willing to form a traveling circus? Carly as the lion tamer and Grandma on the trapeze?"

Granddad looked at him like he was crazy, but patted his shoulder and said, "You know you're always welcome in our home. We love you, Spence."

Spencer shook his head, preparing to stand his ground. "There are things I need to take care of here."

A small sound interrupted his thoughts. They all looked up to see Carly padding towards them in her blue footie pajamas.

Granddad spoke first, in the exaggerated cheerful voice that adults use to tell children things they don't want to hear. "Carly, you're going to come live with your grandmother and me in Yakima."

Like a small startled animal, Carly darted across the room and wrapped her arms around Spencer's leg, clinging with desperate tenacity. Granddad reached a hand out to her, and she turned pleading eyes up to Spencer. "Please don't make me go. I'll be good."

"I can't take care of you." It came out close to a shout. Gently prying her off of his leg, he drew a deep, shuddering breath and tried to control his voice. "I did my best. It's not good enough. When I get my—myself together, when I graduate, we'll be together again. I promise."

He pressed _Winnie-the-Pooh_ into her hands and wiped roughly at his eyes. "Grandma will read to you every night. And when you miss me you can look at this." He opened the book and showed her the picture he had taped inside the front cover. It was the picture of their mom grinning like the sun, the picture of the three them before everything was broken.

Carly looked so old for a five-year-old. Her face was serious with concentration. "Will you be an angel? Or," she searched her memory, "a DNA? You won't be at Grandma and Granddad's, but you'll be with me?"

Spencer stooped down to match Carly's height. He kissed her forehead, wrapped his arms around her, and let himself say what she wanted to hear because he needed to hear it too. "Even when I'm not there, part of me will always be with you."


End file.
